


Expanding Horizons

by 3littleowls



Series: The Detective's Antidote [3]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: BDSM, Dom/sub Play, Foot Massage, Japanese Rope Bondage, Kink Negotiation, M/M, Oral Sex, Possessive Behavior, Relationship Negotiation, Sex Clubs, Shrimping, Virgin Sherlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-02
Updated: 2014-04-02
Packaged: 2018-01-17 20:58:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 16,337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1402240
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/3littleowls/pseuds/3littleowls
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Darin Allard is a mild-mannered scientist with a kinky side. How does he explain his lifestyle to his less experienced paramour, Sherlock Holmes?</p><p> </p><p>AU Timeframe- Most of the story occurs after <em>Revival</em> and <em>Explanatory Variables</em></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some people may interpret mild dubcon in one scene in this chapter.

“Oh hell no!” Darin turned his head and grinned at the man yelling at him across the bar.

“There goes my chances tonight! Damn it Allard, go find another club!”

“Sorry you can’t pull any, Mike,” Darin shouted back over the music. It was loud, a driving industrial beat. Seth, Darin’s flatmate, laughed and handed Darin a shot glass. 

“Cheers.” They clinked glasses and both of them drank, the burn hitting the back of Darin’s throat.

“Mike’s an arse but he is right. I don’t know why I come out with you.” Seth raked an appraising look down Darin’s body.

“What?” Darin said, smirking. He knew exactly what he looked like. Vintage jeans, tight, very low on his hips. He had a short sleeved buttondown that was technically a youth size; it rode up leaving a slice of bare, toned belly visible. His hair was artistically tousled and he wore thick, plastic-framed glasses. 

“Oh fuck you and your sexy poindexter thing. You’ll work your way through all the prime men before I get a chance to say hello,” Seth complained.

Darin laughed and they started to weave their way through the club. There was a stage in the middle of the dance floor, and two people in leather and latex, a man and a woman, had been taking volunteers from the crowd to tie up and torture for the amusement of the masses. A large wooden x had been erected on a frame on the stage, as well as what appeared to be a padded sawhorse and some kind of wicked looking chair. Both of the doms had a large box at their disposal from which they drew an occasional accessory. They would dramatically present a flogger, or a hank of rope to the crowd before putting it to use.

They usually didn’t come to Fluid on Friday theme nights, but Darin needed to unwind after a trying week. As expected, more of the clientele were in fetish apparel than usual. Darin’s head kept turning to the stage, however, to satiate his curiosity.

A hand brushed Darin’s shoulders, and when he turned around, a tall fellow with red curls was smiling at him. Darin smiled back and reached out a hand and let the man take him into the moving, pulsing mass of dancing bodies.

“Bye, Seth!” Darin called. Seth rolled his eyes.

###

Darin met Seth back at the bar an hour or so later. The ginger boy had been nice, and the blond afterwards, but Darin still hadn’t settled on a target. He wasn’t quite the slut Mike and Seth thought he was. He did have standards.

Darin bought the next round for his friends, who harassed him for his trouble. He was getting tipsy, but he wasn’t quite pissed yet. He was twenty-six and had learned his limits.

“So how many new notches do you have on your belt? Three?” Mike brayed. He had seen Mike head into a back room with someone earlier, it wasn’t like he had any trouble. He just liked to try to get a rise out of Darin. He made a face at him and downed his drink.

“You know what would be something? To get you up on that stage with those poor bastards,” Mike mused. Darin looked up. The male dom had a woman bound with rope in front of him. He was shirtless and powerfully built, and had a sandy-colored ponytail. His nose looked like it had been broken at one point, but instead of marring his appearance, it made him rakish.

Seth grinned and slapped Darin’s arm. “Do it!”

“Hell no!” Darin replied, “You go up there and make a spectacle of yourself!”

“Noooo.” Seth shook his head. “You are the attention whore.”

“I am not!” Darin squeaked in protest. “Besides, did you see the dom woman earlier? I am not interested in getting the shit beat out of me.”

Mike rolled his eyes. “Are you a child? It’s a show. It’s not real!”

“It looked real!” Darin objected.

“Bwak bwak bwak bwak,”` Seth clucked, laughing.

“Oh now we know who the kid is!” Darin pointed his finger at Seth. He looked back up on stage. The man in leather was rather appealing. In fact, he was the best looking man he’d seen tonight. A sly smile spread over Darin’s face.

“If I do this, you two pricks get to pay my way our next night out.”

“Deal!” His friends exclaimed in a happy chorus. Mike grabbed Darin’s elbow and they both started to drag and push him towards the stage. Darin laughed at them- they were rushing him forward, worried that he would change his mind.

“Woo hoo, gladiator man!” Mike called from the base of the stage. Darin wanted to melt into the floor. Why the hell did he hang out with Mike? “We have another volunteer for you!”

The gorgeous dom looked down and Darin smiled at him. He was untying the woman at his feet now, and Darin assumed he’d be in a queue until he was done with her.

“You’ll be next up after our break. Leave your name, and don’t go too far,” The man called from the stage. Darin beamed at him. The man winked and went back to tending to the woman.

“What are you playing at?” Seth said suspiciously.

“Trying to get you two to buy me a round for courage.” Darin headed back to the bar.

###

Darin was surprised when he heard the DJ call him back just a few minutes later. He had just enough time to slam down his shot and thread his way back through the crowd.

The young, dark haired woman in a red, slinky latex bodysuit met Darin at the stage. She had tall spiked heeled boots on, and her hair was in some kind of elaborate upswept ‘do. Darin didn’t see the good looking man, and he started to add things up.

“Um, wait,” he asked the woman, “What happened to the man?”

“He’s not here. Don’t worry, I’ll take care of you.”

Darin swallowed, remembering the rather real looking riding crop she had used on a volunteer earlier. “I can wait. Besides, I’m gay.”

The woman laughed. She sauntered over to Darin and began to undo the buttons on his shirt. “So am I. I’m Irene, but you can call me My Lady. Pick a safeword. Be quick about it.”

“A what?” Darin was starting to panic. He looked down to the dance floor, and his friends were leering at him and laughing. He couldn’t very well turn heel now.

“A word you wouldn’t normally say, one that tells me you have had enough. ‘Oh stop, My Lady’ doesn’t work, darling, because it sounds like you are begging me for it.”

Darin’s mouth went dry. “Oh, shit.” This was backfiring, horribly. He had just wanted to maneuver his way into a quiet corner of the club with that fellow from before.

“Try again.” She took his glasses off, buttoned them into his shirt pocket and then stripped the garment off him. He heard a few hoots from the crowd and turned his head to see who it had been. Irene slapped him across the face. Darin blinked in shock. It hadn’t been that hard, but it had gotten his attention.

“Herbalism,” he yelped, realizing she was waiting for an answer.

She cocked an eyebrow at him and shrugged. “Remember that.”

Before Darin could reply, she snaked her hand to his head and grabbed a handful of his hair. He squeaked, and before he had really registered what she was doing, she had forced him to drop down to his knees to avoid having a new and unsightly bald spot.

“That’s better, isn’t it?”

Darin’s mouth was hanging open. He had forgotten all about the crowd of people surrounding the stage. She slapped him again, her hand buried in his hair kept his head from snapping back.

“Yes, My Lady!” He blurted out.

Her grip in his hair loosened and became soothing. She patted him like a puppy a few times. “That wasn’t so hard.” 

Darin nodded and felt the urge to drop his eyes to look at the stage floor. He had no idea what was about to happen, but he was rapidly realizing he didn’t have a say in it.

“I want you to ask me nicely to restrain you,” Irene ordered.

“Would you please bind me, My Lady?” Darin murmured. The words flowed out of him. He supposed he should feel uncomfortable with that, but for some reason, he didn’t. 

Irene sighed. “I wasn’t very convinced. Why don’t you kiss my boot and show me that you really mean it?”

Darin remembered that an entire nightclub full of people was watching him. His face heated in shame, and he couldn’t bear to look up. The music boomed, a driving low beat. He realized with shock that he was getting hard, and _that_ was confusing as hell. A woman hadn’t given him an erection since...had one ever? 

He bent down and pressed his mouth to the offered boot, thinking he’d just get it over with as quickly as possible. Instead, he found himself lingering on the leather, parting his lips slightly. It was humiliating, and he knew lots of eyes were looking on, but at the same time the front of his pants kept getting tighter. He had a sense everything was getting so very, very far out of his control.

“Well now, that’s a very good boy,” Irene praised him. It pinged at something in his chest and made him glow. “Get up.”

Darin stood, and was still having trouble looking Irene in the eyes, so he kept his head down. She pulled him none too gently to the large X-frame. Before he had time to ponder it, she pressed his belly into the center of the X and quickly pulled an arm over his head and buckled his wrist into a leather cuff.

Darin’s animal brain kicked on, and he started to struggle against the restraints. He pulled away from the cross, one hand locked into place. Irene shoved him hard back into the wood, and then a line of fire bloomed across his back. Darin gasped and it registered, too late, that at some time while his head was down, the riding crop had made an appearance. The shock of it had given his captor time to pull up and secure his other wrist. 

He felt leather being traced over his back, and froze. Irene leaned over to say in his ear,  
“Do you remember your safeword?”

Darin nodded.

“Do you need to use it?” 

Darin had lost his voice someplace on the stage. His head was swimming; he wasn’t sure why. Maybe it was the last shot he had, or the damn strobe lights and the loud music. While he was considering this latest mystery, his legs were spread, and each ankle strapped down to a leg of the cross. He immediately starting pulling and writhing against it, realizing that he was well and truly trapped. His heart was hammering in his chest, and he forgot everything except the need to struggle and escape. Time stood still as he labored. Eventually his breathing slowed, and he leaned his weight into the middle of the cross. He knew he was helpless, he had done his best to escape, and there was no point in fighting against the restraints any longer. 

A sharp crack and pain over his shoulders pulled him out of his reverie, and then he felt two more in quick succession. He cried out, but he knew it didn’t matter. The tip of the crop teased and traced outlines on his back until he was slapped with it again. The pain and tracing followed a predictable pattern, and Darin felt like he could drift right off the platform if he wasn’t spread eagled and cuffed down. The strikes were distracting, and he really wished they would stop soon. There was something he was supposed to say, something to make it halt, but he couldn’t bother to try to remember. 

Someplace through the fog he felt a set of strong hands on him, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. The restraints gave way, and he leaned heavily into supporting arms as he was led off the stage.

###

Away from the pounding music, Darin was finally able to focus, even if everything was still dreamy and hazy around the edges. He was laying face down on a sofa in a quiet room, and a man and a woman were talking in low, heated voices just outside. He closed his eyes for a little bit and drifted.

The door clicked open, and the male dom bent down and brushed a hand through Darin’s hair. “How are you feeling?”

“Weird,” Darin admitted foggily.

“I bet. You on anything, besides a bit of drink tonight? Be honest with me.” 

“No,” Darin told him truthfully. 

“Okay, good. This was your first time?”

“Uh huh.” 

The man cursed softly. “My name is Rob. I’m going to get you sorted. If you are uneasy about that, and still want Irene instead, just let me know, alright?” 

“Sorted?” Darin asked into the sofa. He seemed unable to speak more than one word at a time. Strong hands tugged him off the cushions until he was sitting on the floor. Darin’s limbs felt like lead and he wasn’t sure his spine could hold him him upright without the sofa behind him. Rob sat down, and pulled his limp body so his head was resting against Rob’s knees. Darin sighed. It should have been odd, sitting at another person’s feet, leaning into him for support, but it wasn’t. 

“That’s it, pet,” Rob laid his hand on Darin’s head again, and it felt fantastic. 

“Irene is going to get your shirt and your coat from the coat check, and get you some soda. I’m going to chat with you a while until you feel good enough to get home. You have friends here tonight, right?”

“Uh huh,” Darin replied, not really wanting to think about getting up for a long time.

Rob chuckled. “You just relax, there isn’t any hurry. I’ll take care of you, and you can listen to what I have to say.”

The door opened again. Darin saw Irene’s heels come toward him. He curled himself tighter into Rob’s leg, and he patted Darin reassuringly. He heard faint sounds of fabric rustling and a click of a glass. 

“He’s fine, go back out,” Rob told Irene. It was an order, not a request, and the woman left the room without a word.

Darin winced as his shirt was draped over his shoulders, but it was more of a reflexive action than actual pain. “I know. It feels worse than it really is. You just have a couple minor welts. Your next shower will smart, but that’s about it.” The man put a glass of soda with a straw in it next to Darin. “Sip this, pet.”

Darin was able to make his neck move enough to nod against Rob’s knee.

“I want you to understand, things don’t usually happen this way. Irene is a wild card. She knows the owner of Fluid and convinced him to let her on stage tonight. I think she is trying to go professional, and is looking for clients. Anyway, when I found out it was going to be just her, I asked the owner to let me supervise. Irene wasn’t very pleased about that. She used to be in a private club I’m a member of, but she was thrown out,” Rob sighed. “She’s young, and doesn’t play by the rules. She said she didn’t realize you went floating and couldn’t safeword, but I think I got you out in time. She’ll be a good dom for someone else, eventually. Not someone like you. You are very responsive, pet. She told me she didn’t expect someone to go down so quickly, in this kind of setting.”

Darin wasn’t sure what he meant, but he didn’t reply. He was able to operate his hands to wrap around the glass now. His mouth found the straw, and the soda seemed especially sweet and cold. Rob’s fingers were warm and steady against his hair. The man seemed to like to talk, and Darin really didn’t mind. 

“I’m going to give you some advice from experience. I’m betting you come to clubs to dance and have sex with random strangers to blow off some steam, yeah?” Rob didn’t wait for Darin to respond, but his statement was true enough. 

“Knowing what makes people tick is why I’m good at this, and I’ve seen it before. You, my pet, are doing yourself a big disservice by not finding someone to submit to. You need to start playing at our type of club. What happened tonight won’t happen to you again, I assure you. I’ll leave you with a card, and I can give you a couple names of doms who are not rookie sadists. You’ll be kinder to yourself, and probably even safer, too, then sucking someone’s cock in the alley for a chance to satisfy your urge to get down on your knees.”

Darin let Rob’s words sink in, and filed them away. He would have to mull it over later. He found that his muscles were properly supporting him now, and he was able to stop leaning on Rob and hold himself up on his own. He was feeling rather content to just let the minutes tick by as he finished his drink and his thoughts drifted. 

“Look at you, pet. You are gorgeous. It doesn't even occur to you that you don’t have to sit there and listen to me. Sadly, I’m not a good match for you either, but whoever ends up with you is a lucky bastard,” Rob said wistfully. 

“It’s easy enough to sit here when I can’t stand up,” Darin told him, finding his voice.

“You can.” Rob rose and offered Darin a hand. “Get up, but sit on the sofa a few more minutes.”

Darin reached for the offered hand, and found his legs were indeed, steady. He sat on the sofa, and started to button up his shirt and pull on his jacket. His back was sensitive, but it didn’t sting as badly as he had thought it might. He was relieved to find his glasses still tucked into his shirt pocket.

“I’ll find your friends. You’ll be okay if I leave you here?”

“Yes. I’m just groggy,” Darin smiled up at him. “Thanks.”

“No worries, pet. Take it easy tomorrow, too. Have a good lie in. I’ll be back with my card. If you need anything, call me. I’ll write down a good club and some names for you. Think about what I said.” Rob opened the door and flashed Darin a reassuring smile.

“I will.”

###

“Peter Evans! Is that really you?” Rob called, working his way over to him.

Peter smiled and waved. There were about forty people tonight at the House for the annual holiday celebration, enough to crowd the library, parlor and main room. The more private upper rooms of the House were being utilized on a waitlist, but for many here, this was simply a night to socialize.

Rob reached Peter and extended a meaty hand. “I wasn’t sure I was going to see you here again. Are you just visiting London, or are you back from Holland?” 

“I’m back for good. I have a new position at the National Archives, but I’m sure you don’t want to listen to exciting librarian business. I hear you married last year?”

Rob beamed. “Yes, do you remember Sarah? She’s here tonight, serving the House.”

“I don’t think so. I haven’t visited in a couple years and there are a lot of members I don’t recognize. Anyway, congratulations.” He held up his wine glass to clink against Rob’s.

“She was just in this room…” Rob scanned the crowd, but it was hard to pick individuals out in a sea of people in House black tie. 

Club rules dictated dominants in tuxedos or black dresses. The submissives wore leather trousers- the men shirtless and women either in black corsets or brassieres. Some of the subs freely mingled, but others wore a festive red satin ribbon tied around their throats. This indicated that they were fulfilling their obligation of servitude to the House, which tonight meant that they had to make drinks, take coats, or attend to a variety of other duties to assure the party ran smoothly. 

Rob shrugged and gave up. “I suppose she was called away, I’ll make sure you meet her later. So you have to tell me about Amsterdam. Did you like living there?”

“I did. The art scene is vibrant and I fell in love with the outdoor cafes. The clubs are different, with all the Red Light District tourists flooding the public ones. But I missed London- there is no place quite like it-and my family is here.”

A sub sporting a red ribbon and a tray approached them, carefully waiting for a break in the conversation. He didn’t have his dark brown eyes fully lowered behind his glasses, but he was careful not to look at either of them directly.

“Would you gentlemen like anything from the bar?”

Peter took his time answering, mostly so he could enjoy looking at the man’s finely toned body. He must had realised Peter’s regard, since he helpfully lowered the tray so he could get a better view. It made Peter chuckle.

“A glass of merlot,” Peter ordered. Rob declined and with a nod of his head; the sub went away to fetch the drink.

“That clever little tart is a new face. A pleasant one, at that.” Peter grinned at Rob.

Rob laughed. “That he is. His name is Darin. He’s been a member for about two years now. I was his reference on his membership application.”

“I really have been gone a long time. What can you tell me about him?”

Rob pursed his lips in thought. “He’s a good fellow, well liked at the House. Smart, he’s a professor at one of the universities. Chemistry or botany or something like that. He’s unattached, exclusively gay and only wants to play with men. Well, he will partner with Justine for the shibari classes- he’s great for demos. You two probably would make a good match, if you’re looking.”

Peter thought about it. He was really here tonight to see old friends and hadn’t really come with the intention of starting something with someone. The House functioned like any other private club most of the time; people came to have a drink, take tea and socialize. It was certain days of the month and special events that catered to the BDSM proclivities all the members had in common.

He _was_ interested. The man was gorgeous and obviously a flirt, which drove Peter around the bend. He knew there was no rush-Darin was working and probably not free to accept assignations. Not that he was really fond of going right upstairs after quick negotiations. He drank his last sip of wine and tried to decide what to do- he hadn’t even unpacked his boxes yet! Then again, he wasn’t getting any younger...

Before he had enough time to fully process his options, Darin was back and presenting his merlot on a tray. He wasn’t bold enough to sneak a look at Peter, but he wore a sly smile. 

“Perhaps we could have lunch, after the holidays.” Peter slid a calling card on Darin’s tray as he took his glass. It had a code on it that would allow him to view his dossier of preferences and expectations electronically. Darin could then send him his own, if he chose to.

Darin’s smile widened, but he only replied with a formal, “Will that be all, gentlemen?” 

“That will be all,” Peter dismissed. Rob grinned. 

###

Darin blinked at his laptop. “Wow. Hey Sherlock?”

Sherlock arched an eyebrow as he pulled his bow over the strings of his Strad.

“This blog entry of John’s. Said you had a case with Irene Adler?”

Sherlock ground out a discordant note.

“In this entry, he said she was gone and you were ‘devastated’ when she left? Did you have a thing for her?”

Sherlock answered by abusing his violin.

“Huh.” Darin picked up his sandwich. Baker Street really wasn’t far from the university, and he found himself stopping by for lunch when he could. Not that Sherlock usually had lunch, unless he took a liking to whatever Darin was eating.

He clicked to the next blog entry. “Witness protection scheme? I always wondered what happened to her. I really don’t see her as your type, I have to say.”

Sherlock furrowed his brows. “You knew her? How? Don’t tell me you were a client.”

Darin wiped the corner of his mouth. He didn’t miss the underlying possessive tone in Sherlock’s voice. “Jesus, no. London club scene, a long time ago. She left quite the, uh, impression.”

Sherlock studied him intently, getting a read on him. Darin assumed he deduced what he wanted to know when he lifted his bow again. Darin went back to John’s blog. Sherlock didn’t seem willing to talk, and knowing better than to try to drag it out of him, he tucked that nugget of information away for some other day.

Sherlock started to play _Méditation de Thaïs_ , the sad and sweet melody filling the room.

###

“I really need to have Mrs Hudson call in the exterminator,” Sherlock sighed as he entered his flat and found Mycroft had made himself at home.

“Clever. You will be pleased to know I have a pending meeting, so I can’t stay long.”

“Oooo, need to serve the Queen her tea?” Sherlock hung up his coat and flung himself onto the sofa.

Mycroft tutted. “I brought you Colin Manfield's immigration records, as you had requested.”

“Very timely- I solved that case already, which you knew. Why are you really here?”

Mycroft studied Sherlock for a moment. “How is Doctor Watson?”

Sherlock moaned and flipped over to face the back of the sofa.

“Really Sherlock, so much drama over a visit from your brother. I simply want to make sure you are well.”

“Your cameras and spies tell you everything you need to know,” Sherlock’s reply was muffled by the cushion.

“I did notice you are still seeing your paramour.”

Sherlock turned back to glare at his brother. “You didn’t kidnap him again, did you?”

Mycroft waved a dismissive hand. “No need. He has already passed security protocols. I know of his family, close friends, his research and the club of which he is a member. The club was noteworthy, but not particularly suspicious.”

Sherlock scowled. “Noteworthy? Why is it ‘noteworthy’?”

Mycroft tilted his head. “Surely, you know about the Garnet House?”

Sherlock sat up slowly.

“Oh my. It looks like I have let the cat out of the bag,” Mycroft crooned.

###

Darin smiled at Angelo when he set the plate of rigatoni in front of him. Sherlock still stirred his soup. Darin was sure he hadn’t even tasted his starter, but Sherlock obviously had some sort of food issue, and Darin wasn’t going to make him feel odd about it. Darin raised his fork to his mouth, and Sherlock picked that moment to speak.

“How was your visit to the Garnet House?”

Darin froze and carefully set his fork down. “Have you been following me?”  
Sherlock laughed, but it was acerbic.“No, but perhaps I should have been. My brother brought it to my attention that you were a member of an exclusive London club.”

“Of course he did. Your brother is a twisted bastard.” Darin sighed and rubbed a hand through his hair. “I suppose he gave you all the details.”

Sherlock folded his hands on the table. His eyes were dark gray, devoid of any sort of warmth.

Darin pressed his lips together, and finally admitted, “I was going to tell you. When the time seemed right.”

“I see. It _is_ a comfort to know that I was going to be told exactly how many other men you are shagging.”

“No, Sherlock. That’s not what…” Darin felt as if he was in quicksand and getting slowing sucked under.

“No? Perhaps you can illuminate me on what exactly one does at a sex club?” Sherlock was making no effort at keeping his voice down, and a few heads at nearby tables turned their way.

“Do we have to have this out in public?” Darin hissed.

Sherlock’s eyes bore into him. “We don’t have to have this out at all.” Sherlock pulled back from the table and calmly placed his napkin over his bowl before standing and walking from the table.

“Shit.” Darin pulled off his glasses to drive the heels of his palms into this eyes. This was completely his own doing, and he had no idea if he could dig himself out of this hole.

“Honey,” a soft voice whispered next to him. It was an old woman who was dining with her husband across the aisle. “I know I’m putting my nose where it doesn’t belong, but go after him.”

Darin cursed and dragged on his coat while he flew out of the door. He looked down both sides of the street, and caught a glimpse of Sherlock pulling his gloves on, waiting for a light to change on the corner. Darin trotted down the block after him, and grabbed his elbow as Sherlock crossed at the intersection.

Sherlock started, glared at him over his pulled up collar, and shook off his hand.

Darin swallowed. “Hey. Hold up, will you?”

Sherlock stopped abruptly on the kerb, forcing other pedestrians to flow around them.

“I’m sorry. I should have said something. Look I know you're angry, and you have a right to be, but will you let me explain?” Darin pleaded.

Sherlock put his hand up for a taxi. “There is really no need.”

“It’s not what you think. Not entirely. Besides, it’s not like we agreed to not see other people.”

Sherlock glowered at him. Darin was pretty sure if looks could kill, he’d be wearing a toe tag by now.

“That was the wrong thing to say. Damn it, I told you. I cock up relationships. Sherlock…”

A cab pulled up to the corner, and Darin watched helplessly as Sherlock got in and left him on the pavement.


	2. Chapter 2

Darin knocked lightly on the door before walking into Sherlock’s living room. Sherlock looked up impassively from his laptop and waved him in.

“Mrs Hudson let me in. I hope it’s okay?” Darin started.

“I fail to see why it wouldn’t be. It’s her house,” Sherlock replied, tapping at his laptop again.

“Well, you didn’t answer your phone. I wasn’t sure after last night...anyway, I brought my lunch.” Darin set the takeaway down on the coffee table. “I can go, if you don’t want me here.”

Sherlock shrugged. “Are you going to keep walking on eggshells the whole time? It’s aggravating.”

Darin rubbed his hair. “No, I’m not. I want to clear the air about Garnet House, and other things.”

Sherlock shut his laptop with a click and pressed his palms together over his lips. “Be concise.”

Darin took off his coat and sat in the chair opposite. He took a deep breath before he started to speak. “First, I really regret not telling you myself. I’m not sure why I didn’t. I guess I was worried what you would think.”

“Why would that concern you to the point of deception?” Sherlock asked. His face was placid, but very blank.

“I’m used to keeping it private. The first rule about sex club is that you don’t talk about sex club,” Darin flashed Sherlock a half-smile, but Sherlock didn’t react to the cultural reference.

Sherlock shook his head. “No, that’s not why.”

“I just thought it would be easier, later on, after things became more physical.” Darin dragged his hands through his hair again. “You were bothered just by kissing at first, Sherlock, I didn’t think you’d be comfortable hearing about my other escapades.”

“So you didn’t want to terrify the virgin, is that it?” Sherlock says with a huff. “Really, Darin. I’m an expert on human behavior. Do you really think I’m naive when to comes to sex, even if I don’t participate?”

Darin shrugged. “Sherlock, maybe. I don’t know. I just thought it would be uncomfortable.”

“Sex doesn’t make me uncomfortable,” Sherlock snapped.

“You could have fooled me,” Darin retorted. “You have the right to be angry that I didn’t tell you, and I’m sorry you had to hear about this from your brother. Is that the only reason why you are upset? Because if you are so open minded about the whole matter, something else must be bothering you.”

“I’ve investigated murders that were instigated by infidelity, Darin. Certainly I’m not overreacting.”

“ _Infidelity?_ You can’t just decide we are in a monogamous relationship. We never...” Darin objected.

“You knew well enough that I had assumed.” Sherlock set his laptop aside, stood up and started to pace the room.

“Sherlock, look at me,” Darin asked him, quietly. Sherlock stopped pacing and glared at him. “I haven’t slept with anyone else, not since after the lecture at Kew gardens. I haven’t had the opportunity, or the desire. I spend most of my free time with you. That should say something. Now, I know you can tell when people are lying. Really look at me. Am I lying?”

Sherlock hesitated, then his eyes drilled holes into Darin’s. “No.”

“Good,” Darin exhaled a held breath. “Let me start from the beginning, since I don’t know what Mycroft has told you. I’ll give you some background on the club. Garnet House is what it says on the label- it’s a house with a dark red door in Clapham. It was bought and refurbished sometime in the 60’s by a group of people who claimed they wanted to establish a middle class social club. In fact, most of the time it is just a typical club. They serve tea on the weekdays, have lectures, classes, banquets- you get the idea. It’s not really a front, but the dual purpose keeps most of the neighbors ignorant. The ground floor has kitchens, a library, parlor with a bar and a dining area. The basement is a big open room we use for classes, talks, films, depending how we arrange the furniture. The first and second storeys have five bedrooms turned into playrooms. Some of the furniture and equipment in BDSM is large, expensive, or not practical to have in one’s flat. We have a secure website where members can reserve those rooms, set up trysts, what have you. The House also hosts a few fetish parties for members and their guests every year.”

Darin paused to give Sherlock a chance to ask any questions, but Sherlock just stood silently, fingers steepled over his lips, thinking. 

Darin continued. “Recently, I’ve been to the House four, um, five times since we’ve started dating. Four times to meet friends for tea, once to help with an intro class on safe rope bondage. I was mostly clothed and working with a female instructor. That’s it- no meetups for more intimate things.”

Sherlock made a face. “You’ll stop going now, I take it?”

“I thought we could come to an understanding about that.”

Sherlock threw in arms in the air in frustration. “Why? Why would you want to keep going?”

“I’ve been a member for a decade, Sherlock. I have a lot of friends there, I like the atmosphere and I enjoy helping with the classes. You don’t expect me to stop seeing my friends, do you?”

Sherlock folded his arms over his chest and stalked back and forth.

“Right. That’s not really very good,” Darin stood and tried to block Sherlock’s path, but Sherlock spun around him. When Darin reached out for him, Sherlock flinched and held up his hand, tapping the thumb and pinky together twice. It was their newly agreed signal that Sherlock wasn’t welcoming touch at the moment. Darin returned the hand-sign and backed up a step.

“I think that maybe we should table this discussion for another day. I want you to think about this a bit more,” Darin suggested.

“Fantastic. In the meantime, you can keep going to your little playground.” Sherlock groused and crossed the room.

“Until we reach some kind of agreement, yes,” Darin ground his teeth in frustration.

“Did we agree to not see other people, or is that still on the table?” Sherlock drawled.

“For now, if it makes you feel better and until we get things sorted. I promise not to shag half of London in my copious spare time,” Darin snapped, losing his patience. He picked up the takeaway. “I’m going to take my lunch back to the office, I think.”

Sherlock waved Darin away.

Darin paused at the door. “That was a screwed up way of telling each other we want a commitment.”

Sherlock had fallen silent, drawn into himself.

“We’re not fighting- this stuff is complicated, OK? You can stop by the lab or we get together later on if you want. Just think about this...possessiveness. Please,” Darin amended before leaving Sherlock with his thoughts. 

###

Darin swirled the whisky around in his glass, and watched it eddy. They had decided to see each other that night after all, but they seemed to have some silent mutual agreement that it was too soon for round two of negotiations.

“Are you ever going to tell me about him?” Sherlock asked. 

“Are you ever going to tell me about Irene?” When Darin glanced up, Sherlock had hidden himself in his armor of indifference.

“I see.” Darin swallowed a mouthful of the amber liquid, wanting to feel it burn down his throat. He suspected Sherlock had no bloody idea what to tell him about her. He wish he would try, but frankly, he knew that was expecting a lot from him.

“I will tell you about Peter,” Darin said, slowly. “Not tonight. I’m not trying to hide anything. It still hurts.”

Sherlock studied him, his face still unreadable. “After five years?”

Darin nodded and took another sip. “Not as much as it once did, I admit. I think it always will, a little. I can’t erase things, like you seem to be able to. I’m not sure if I would. It was good, once. I learned from it. Well, maybe not. I’m still botching up, aren’t I?”

Sherlock reached over and poured another splash of whisky into his glass. Darin felt his cool fingers brush his. Perhaps it was meant as a comfort, but Darin couldn’t tell. Sherlock was keeping his cards close tonight.

“I’m going to send you something from the club,” Darin decided. “We keep dossiers on our preferences to exchange with potential partners. A lot of us still have verbal negotiations, but doing your homework beforehand is helpful. Anyway. I think you should have it. If you want it. I’m not assuming you want to...”

Sherlock sighed. “I’m not delicate, Darin. Of course I want it.”

###

The door to 221b was open, so Darin walked in. 

He was greeted with the sight of Sherlock sitting on the sofa, with a needle in his arm.

“Sherlock?” Darin grated out, heart thumping in panic.

John came out of the kitchen with two mugs of tea, and noticed Darin gaping.

“It’s all right. He knows what he’s doing,” John smiled reassuringly.

Sherlock released the rubber tourniquet, and Darin saw the dark red blood collecting in the vial. He turned his head away with relief.

“Squeamish, really?” Sherlock chuckled around the sharp’s safety cap between his lips.

“Shut up. The subjects I work with don’t bleed,” Darin grumbled. “Is there any hot water left in the kettle?”

“I’ll put it back on. First though, congratulations. Sherlock told me you two are serious,” John shook his head. “Never thought I’d see the day, but good for you.” 

Darin smiled. “Thanks, John.”

“Which brings me to this,” John waved in Sherlock’s direction. Darin glanced quickly to see that Sherlock had finished his draw and was putting pressure on his arm.

“John was harassing me about getting tested,” Sherlock grumbled. 

“Sherlock?” Darin asked, confused. “He’s not exactly a high risk.”

John glared at Sherlock.

“I’ve told him, John. He’s being dense. Especially since he just thought he caught me shooting up,” Sherlock rolled his eyes.

Darin rubbed his forehead, “Oh right. You said you always used clean works and you had a negative test.”

John stared at the ceiling with exasperation. “Oh yes, because high people always remember everything and have the best judgment. I am so happy you two have a doctor around. Jesus, Darin, you should really know better. I want you to get your arse to a clinic, or sit down and let me do it now.”

Darin blanched. “Isn’t that some kind of ethical breach?”

Sherlock snorted. “He’s killed people.”

“Not acting as a doctor, I haven’t. If you prefer it, I can have the results sent to you directly,” John offered.

“Oh just get it over with, so he stops nattering at me,” Sherlock grumbled, and tossed his capped vial to John. 

Darin moaned and slipped off his coat. He rolled up his sleeve and sat in Sherlock’s armchair. 

John pulled on a pair of gloves, and Darin looked over at Sherlock. Sherlock looked amused, and Darin made a childish face at him.

“Don’t worry, I’m good at this. It only takes a minute,” John assured.

“I know, I’ve done this before. My last physical, in fact,” Darin complained.

“Yeah, well. It’s my job to look out for him and this risks nothing.” John tied the rubber tubing on and swabbed the ditch of Darin’s arm with alcohol. He tapped at a vein.“So, safe sex for three months, then I’ll want to repeat...” 

“Yes, yes. I know the drill,” Darin felt the prick of the needle and closed his eyes.

“Could have fooled me,” John said, and released the tubing. Darin felt a cold sweat break out on his forehead. 

“You’re losing him, John,” Sherlock chuckled.

Darin’s ears were starting to ring. God, he hated blood draws. “Fuck you, Sherlock.”

John stifled a giggle and withdrew the needle. Darin hardly felt it. 

“You okay?” John asked, putting on a plaster and pressing Darin’s arm up to hold it.

“Yeah. I don’t actually faint,” Darin replied, waiting for the sick feeling to pass.

“He hangs on, just barely. You’re white as a sheet,” Sherlock teased.

“I am _so_ going to kick your arse when I get up,” Darin growled.

“You two idiots are a perfect match.” John laughed, snapping his gloves off. 

###

The back door had been so ridiculously easy to pick, he was surprised this house hadn’t been burglarized before. Sherlock pressed himself against the doorjamb as a young woman passed the far side of the corridor. It was harder to work his way around unseen in the middle of the day. He just had to find what he was looking for, and he’d be gone.

He kept to the shadows, passing the kitchens in the rear of the house. From the blueprints, he knew the stairs to the bedrooms were just past the library. He’d be exposed there- he’d have to time his ascent just right.

He stopped and listened outside the door of the library, waiting for his chance for an all-clear to sneak up the stairs. He heard a familiar voice and scrunched up his brow, listening.

“...was completely deplorable. I considered asking for a refund, but I suppose it’s what passes for entertainment these days.” 

A deeper male voice replied, “Next time tell your sister to go to musicals herself. You never enjoy them.” 

“I tell her that, but she cajoles me into it, every time. She makes sad eyes at me, and I’m lost.” Darin laughed.

A woman’s voice called out to Sherlock from down the hallway. “Hey, who are you?”

“Damn,” Sherlock cursed and stepped into the doorway of the library, hands held out.

Darin looked up, stunned. 

The hulking blond man Darin had been speaking to stared at Sherlock, in equal parts surprise and annoyance.

The woman came behind Sherlock and scolded him, “Sir, I don’t know how you got in, but this is a private establishment. You need to leave or I will call the authorities.”

Darin put his teacup down with a click. “That’s not necessary, Nancy. This is Mr Sherlock Holmes. Sherlock, this is my _friend_ Mr Rob Gallagher.”

Rob gaped for a minute, and then recovered and rose to shake Sherlock’s hand. “Darin has told us a lot about you.”

Sherlock offered his own hand. “Unfortunately, I have not had the pleasure.”

“Well, we do tend to keep to ourselves. Garnet House is a private club Mr Holmes, but if Darin wishes to have you as a guest, I can ask Nancy to bring you tea?”

“I certainly do not,” Darin snapped. “Sherlock is leaving. Now.” Darin stood, face stormy.

“I could stay. I have the time…”

Sherlock watched Darin’s face darken. He realized, a little too late, he had drained the well of his patience dry. 

“You break in to spy on me and _now_ you want to sit and take tea like a civilized adult?” Darin growled. “I agreed that nothing was going to happen here, but you couldn’t let it go, could you?”

Sherlock was going to say something witty, but Darin’s expression make him click his mouth shut.

“Nancy, can you please bring me my coat?” Darin clenched his fists by his side and rounded on Sherlock again. “Now at least I know how far your trust in me goes. I’m sorry your efforts didn’t get you an eyeful of anything more scandalous than me having too many biscuits.”

“Darin, I was just…” Sherlock trailed off. “I didn’t intend to get caught.”

Nancy appeared with Darin’s jacket, and he shrugged into it. “Good afternoon, Rob. Wish your _wife_ well, please.” He turned on his heel, and the front door of the house banged shut.

Sherlock stood in the library and groaned.

“Well done,” Rob said dryly. 

“If I need wit from someone who failed out of their exams at university, I’ll ask for it,” Sherlock snapped.

Rob ignored the barb and sat down. “Oh yes, the famous detective who can read everyone at a glance. You would think with that kind of skill you could have played that off better.”

“This is none of your concern,” Sherlock snapped.

“On the contrary. Darin and I have been friends for many years.” Rob corrected. “On the other hand, I don’t know you. As it stands, I see a man who has learned my friend’s schedule and has been following him to spy on his personal engagements. You have committed an act of trespass to snoop on him. In most circumstances, Mr Holmes, I’d be calling the police and encouraging Darin to prosecute you for harassment.”

Sherlock bit the inside of his cheek. “I am not harassing Darin.”

Rob lifted an eyebrow. “You’re not? I think you need to consider your actions very carefully, Mr Holmes, because it sure the hell looks like you are to me. If I hear about this again, the police won’t be your only problem. We protect our own against predators. Am I clear?”

“Oh a threat of physical force. How predictable.”

“The only thing stopping me now is Darin. He cares about you. We’ve seen it for weeks now. You’re almost all he talks about.”

Sherlock swallowed and averted his eyes.

“Let me give you some advice, Sherlock. Don’t push him too much before he’s ready. It didn’t end well with the last man who did that.”

“Peter.” Sherlock thought on it for a second. “I was under the impression he was the one to leave Darin.”

“Technically, yes, but really Peter was just the one to pull the plug,” Rob picked up his teacup. ”Darin can tell you the story himself, if he wants to.” 

Sherlock opened his mouth to try to get more information, but Rob cut him off with a wave of his hand. 

“Give him a couple days, and then apologize for being a stalker. Your behavior is alarming, to say the least. If this is a one-time mistake and if he forgives you, we can consider issuing you a guest card so you don’t have to break in. In the meantime, you must leave. Do I make myself clear?” 

Sherlock put up the collar of his coat. He had nothing more to see, and there was no sense getting arrested again. “I will see myself out.”

“Tread lightly,” Rob warned.

###

Sherlock leaned against Darin’s office door. He tapped on it and gave him the best shamefaced expression he could muster.

“I was wondering if I could still use the scanning probe microscope? I wouldn’t bother you, but it’s a matter of life or death.”

Darin looked up from his computer, frowned, and crossed his arms over his chest. “Oh drop the act, Sherlock. I’m not an idiot. I didn’t revoke your access, so yes, you can use it.”

Sherlock let the sheepish look evaporate into cool indifference. “Thank you.” He started to turn away.

“Wait,” Darin barked. 

Sherlock froze. 

“Come in and close the door,” Darin told him. 

Sherlock hadn’t really intended to have it out with Darin today, but he had known it was a possibility. He shut the door, and let his thumb hit the lock for good measure, just in case there was yelling.

“It’s been three days. Do you have anything to say for yourself?” Darin asked.

Sherlock ran his hands through his hair. “I realize now that it was wrong to follow you, and break into your club. I’m sorry.”

Darin studied him. “Why did you do it? You knew I wasn’t lying to you. If you wanted to look around, all you had to do is ask me.”

Sherlock shrugged. “It wanted data, and getting inside was uncomplicated.”

Darin shook his head. “No. You are a jealous and impulsive arsehole and couldn’t help yourself.”

“That, too,” Sherlock admitted.

Darin leaned his elbows on the table. “That can’t ever happen again. I mean it. You can't tail me, or spy on me, or any other of your tricks. I know you have boundary issues, but it’s creepy. If you do it again, it’s over. I am not a mystery to be solved.”

Sherlock smiled slowly. “Oh, you are the very best mystery.”

Darin tried not to return the smile, but lost the fight. “Flatterer.”

Sherlock laughed.

“I talked to Rob again, the other day. I know by hiding things from you, I’m partially responsible for raising your suspicion, even if your reaction was inexcusable. I also know that you obviously are not fine with me going to Garnet. We need to stop putting off figuring that out. After your case, we need to have another talk.”

The smile dropped off Sherlock’s face. It was possible he’d rather have an evening out with Mycroft then to try to hash this out with Darin again.

Darin came around from behind his desk. “Hey,” He reached a hand out, and Sherlock took it. Darin pulled him into his arms. “It’s not all that bad, is it?”

Sherlock leaned his chin on Darin’s head. “What if we come to another impasse?” 

“What? We’re geniuses. We’ll get there,” Darin kissed the underside of Sherlock’s jaw. 

Sherlock was a little surprised at himself when he ducked his head and caught Darin in a kiss. It quickly accelerated to him pressing in demandingly, licking at the seam of Darin’s lips. Darin made a soft little grunt and opened his mouth, and then melted against him, pushing Sherlock into the back of the door. Sherlock’s hands wandered to Darin’s hips and pulled him tightly against his.

Sherlock calculated how many weeks it had been for him. His libido picked the oddest times to announce itself, and it was doing so with increased frequency. It probably had to do with number of times he had facilitated Darin’s gratification in the interim. Not that he had minded those activities. Quite the contrary.

Darin pulled away breathlessly. “I can’t be snogging you in my office.”

“I’m amenable to other plans,” Sherlock winked, but he let Darin go.

“You’re a bad man. Oh, and your charms are not going to get you out of hot water,” Darin grinned. “Go and use the microscope and stop distracting me.”


	3. Chapter 3

“You look like a man about to march to his execution,” Darin said, as he stood to clean up their dinner dishes.

Sherlock didn’t reply, he just watched him and tapped his fingers on Darin’s kitchen table.

Darin came back to the table and sat down. Sherlock wore the distant, haughty expression he used when he was trying to convince everyone he was a sociopath. Darin knew it for what it was- his armor. He wasn’t going to try to strip it away from him.

“Let’s get on with it,” Sherlock said, expressionless. “What are your terms?”

“Sherlock, this isn’t a hostage situation. You know what I want. What are you comfortable with?” Darin tried his best to sound reassuring. He wasn’t sure it was working. “I really want to know. This won’t work if you're not honest with me.”

Sherlock glared at him when Darin mentioned honesty.

“I know, I know. I do regret that. All of my cards are on the table now. Come on.”

Sherlock huffed a breath. “I would prefer it if you didn’t go to the club. That doesn’t get us very far.”

“Can I ask you what specifically bothers you? Is it just the idea of a sex club? Is it because I have past lovers there? You don’t trust me to resist temptation? What is it?”

Darin watched Sherlock as he drummed his fingers on the table. He changed the rhythm twice before he stopped and rushed out. “When I consider the reasons you have for going to this club, I can only reach one conclusion. You say you want to see your friends there. Which is technically understandable, but it doesn’t need to happen at the House. You could meet them at a pub, or Costa or whatever it is people do. You say you like to help teach classes. A unique factor, I admit and I suppose that is a concession I can accept. That’s not it though, it has to be something bigger, a reason you want to fight me on this. Something specific a sex club can provide you. Perhaps it’s your failsafe. You harbor fears that I can’t fulfill certain needs, which is reasonable, considering my anomalous sexual predilections.”

Darin’s jaw dropped and it took him some time to catch up with the stream of words. “Oh, Sherlock. It bothers you because you don’t think you can make me happy. Have I done something to make you feel this way?”

“You have a whole passel of men at your disposal with more experience who…”

Darin reached over and placed his fingers on Sherlock’s lips.

“Sherlock. I want to be with _you and just you_. Things are good.” Darin dropped his hand on the table, close to, but not quite touching, Sherlock's arm. “As far as your ‘predilections’, if you are satisfied with your sexuality, it doesn’t bother me. You are not that odd to me. I’ve had negotiations with partners with more...uh, peculiar preferences.”

Sherlock arched an eyebrow.

“I could give you examples, but that would be telling.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes. “How dull.”

“How judgemental am I going to be? You’re talking to a man who belongs to a BDSM sex club and likes getting tied up. Sure, I’ve never been with anyone exactly like you, just as long as you are enjoying it to some degree and I’m having a good time, it’s all fine.

“If you're worried you won’t be into the things in the dossier we can figure that out, too. I’ll be shocked if I have misjudged your dominant tendencies, but I keep telling you, I’m not in a hurry. It’s kind of refreshing for me to be going slowly.”

Sherlock was quietly gnawing his lip, thinking.

“You missed something, though, mastermind. I go to the club because it’s a sanctuary. I feel safe in the House. They know me there and I’m accepted, and I can be just who I am without worrying about being a geek, or gay, or a sub. There is a structure, a culture I find relaxing and freeing. While I suppose I can meet up with my friends from Garnet somewhere else, it’s not the same.” 

“I can’t give you that kind of security,” Sherlock added.

“Maybe not, but I don’t expect you to be all things to me, Sherlock. You are not responsible for filling every one of my needs. I don’t try to be John Watson, right?”

“I can’t imagine you on a case,” Sherlock admitted.

“Exactly. Besides the work, he’s your best friend. I’m not going to replace him, and that works out fine, right? I need the House. Maybe someday I won’t, but that isn’t now. Anyway, look, I’ll make the opening bid. Here.”

Darin slid a dark red plastic keycard across the table to Sherlock.

“Rob issued you a guest card. You’ll have to sign a nondisclosure form and other things, but you won’t have to break in again. You're not a member, which means you don’t get any other privileges. You should only be there if I am, and you can only enter the public rooms. Please, for the love of god, don’t go investigating the upstairs suites. I won’t be up there, unless you are with me.”

Sherlock took the card and twirled it in his fingers.

“I will tell you when I plan on going and what I’m doing. If you really need to keep tabs on me, you can just show up. It still seems invasive, but some of the more controlling doms understand, and as Rob pointed out, I need to stop acting like I’m sneaking around.”

Sherlock thought, tapping the card on the table. He’d been quiet, letting Darin present his offer.

“How often did you go when you were having encounters?”

Darin thought. “It varied on my work schedule. On average, twice a month. Plus twice more when I was just in the public rooms to socialize. More if I was helping with a class, but I only have time to do those a couple times a year.”

Sherlock tucked the card in his inner suit pocket. “Will a maximum of once a month to socialize, plus any classes you decide to assist with, be acceptable?”

“You want to limit my time there.” Darin closed his eyes. As a concession, it wasn’t a lot to give up. “I can work with that.”

Sherlock pulled a small Moleskine notebook out of his jacket. He removed a pen from the spine, and flicked through, looking for an empty page.

“What are you doing?” Darin asked.

“Drafting our agreement. Few have the powers of recall that I do. Writing things down can settle any future misunderstandings due to misremembered facts.” Sherlock found a blank spot and started to write.

“How very formal of you,” Darin chuckled.

“It works. Preventing confusion is important. That reminds me- I’ve been doing some research. If you wear a collar at the club, that should be a clear signal that you are unavailable and avoid...Darin? You just blanched.”

Darin swallowed hard, blinked. “How much research did you do on that, exactly?” he finally managed to choke out.

“I wouldn’t want you to wear it out in public. I do have your dossier. I know you're not a 24/7 submissive and frankly, I’d find it tedious. Gladstone is enough work as a pet.”

Darin pushed back from the table. “I need a glass of water. Just a minute.” It was a delaying tactic, but he needed the time to reorder his thoughts.

“You weren’t expecting that,” Sherlock observed.

“Nope.” Darin reached above the sink for a glass and and filled it from tap. He stood near the sink, and slowly drank half of it before sitting back down at the table.

“Right. I think your research failed to explain that collars can have multiple meanings. They can be anything from a fashion statement to a wedding ring and everything in between. In a more casual setting, I’d agree to what you want, like if we were going to nightclub. In Garnet House culture, collars implicate more commitment than either of us are ready for. I won’t wear one. I’m not sure I ever will.”

Sherlock narrowed his eyes. “You meant to say, you won’t wear one _again_.”

“That’s not really relevant.” Darin ignored Sherlock’s eye roll. “I understand what you want, Sherlock. We don’t have that many members and the word will get around that I’m off the market. If the idea that I should wear something to indicate that I’m taken pleases you, give me some time. I’ll think of something more appropriate.”

“Fine,” Sherlock wrote in his little book. “I think we’re settled?”

“If you change your mind, or decide this isn’t working, we need to talk again, alright?” Darin smiled tenderly. ”It wasn’t that bad, was it?”

“The amount of discourse relationships require is exhausting,” Sherlock huffed.

“We’re done. I brought you something to see from my lab. It just arrived from America today. Have you heard of _Toxicoscordion venenosum_?”

Sherlock perked up. “I don’t think I have.”

“It’s otherwise known as Death Camas, or oddly, Watson's Death Camas. Only a tiny amount ingested causes massive organ failure.” Darin grinned. “It’s neat.”

“Well?” Sherlock hopped out of his chair. “Where is it?”

###

“Hello,” Darin called out.

Sherlock came out from the kitchen. “Oh. Good.” He moved from one foot to another as Darin took off his coat and looked around the darkened flat. Sherlock had put a fire on, and had lit most of the room with beeswax candles.

Darin smiled. “Are we staying in, then?”

“I had something in mind, yes,” Sherlock shifted from one foot to the other. He was sure he had this right.

Darin looked Sherlock over. “A little formal for staying in. What did you have in mind?”

Sherlock was dressed in a typical black suit and crisply pressed gray shirt. He was supposed to feel authoritative. Right now he was off-balanced, and felt ridiculous. This was acting. He could do this.

“Right,” Sherlock took a deep breath. “I read your dossier from the club. Excellent file security, by the way.”

“Ah. That’s reassuring. It’s not information some of us are really comfortable having out there. There was a big debate when we went electronic.” Darin set down his messenger bag and studied Sherlock with a note of concern. Darin was so transparent. “So, what did you think?”

Sherlock nodded. “It was...fine.” The hard limit list had been particularly reassuring. Darin wasn’t really a masochist, which had been his biggest concern. Sherlock wasn’t up for beating him senseless with a riding crop. Discomfort, a bit of sting here and there was fine. Only a few things on his acceptable list he crossed right out. Group sex, for one. Some of the items, like shibari, were downright intriguing, and Sherlock had started browsing sites on the internet to learn more about those.

“I have some ideas, if you're willing,” Sherlock offered.

Darin grinned. “I see. Should I ask what you’re about, before I accept?”

Sherlock shrugged. “Is that what is usually done?”

“Depends. Sometimes, sure, I want some more information if I don’t know the person well,” Darin licked his lips.

Nerves? Probably not good. “It’s nothing elaborate, and well within your list,” Sherlock reassured. “The research I did suggested to start slow.”

Darin studied Sherlock for a minute. “Slow is good. All right. Safewords?”

“I doubt we will be needing them tonight,” Sherlock started.

“No, sorry. That I insist,” Darin interrupted. “Especially because you’re new at this, you’ll want the feedback. Really. Do you want to use the club standard words, or something else?”

Sherlock winced. “Something else.” The idea of Darin calling out to him with a phrase he had used finding his pleasures there…

Darin nodded. “Fine. ‘Artichoke’ means I’m starting to feel uncomfortable to some degree. You don’t have to stop, just pause and check in with me. ‘Persimmon’ means I need you to stop. If I’m bound, it usually means get me the hell out as soon as possible. The words work for you, too, by the way.”

“How...vegetal. Very well.” Sherlock waited, not sure what the next step was. He stilled himself so he wouldn’t fidget and give himself away.

Darin held out his arms. “Come here.”

Sherlock reached out and folded him against his chest. He felt solid and reassuring.

“You don’t have to do this,” Darin murmured into his shoulder.

Sherlock huffed. “I don’t do things I don’t want to do.”

Darin gave him a squeeze before pulling away. “Thank you. Well, I’m all yours for the night. Do you want me to call you anything specific? Sir? Master?”

“Ugh, no,” Sherlock wrinkled his nose. “Right. Come into the kitchen.”

Darin nodded and dropped his eyes before following. Sherlock wondered if it was an instinctive or acquired habit. He lead him to the implements he had bought earlier that day, neatly arranged on a tray on the counter.

Sherlock watched Darin’s eyes as they roved over the tray. Darin finally nodded. “It’s been awhile. Are you sure this is a good idea? If I mess up, it could hurt.”

“I’ve played violin through worse than a bloody cuticle, Darin.” Sherlock dropped his voice, added a hint of annoyance. “While I appreciate your concern, during my studies about submission and dominance, I gleaned that the whole point of this exercise was for you to do what I tell you to do.”

Darin glanced up at him but his gaze never lifted above Sherlock’s chin. _Interesting_.

Darin cleared his throat. “I think I have everything I need. Towels?”

“Closet in the toilet. The bowls are for you, as well.” Sherlock watched Darin’s hands run over the manicurist’s tools, double checking.

Darin finally nodded. “If you would please come with me? I’ll get you settled.”

Sherlock allowed Darin to lead him back into the sitting room and to his leather chair. Darin pulled a pillow from the sofa, set it behind Sherlock’s back.

“Would you like anything else while I prepare? Tea?” Darin asked quietly.

Sherlock flicked a hand in dismissal. “No.”

Darin went back into the kitchen and puttered around for a few more minutes. Sherlock steepled his hands in front of his mouth, and waited. He was considering voicing a complaint when Darin appeared, a towel draped over his arm and the tray of tools. He moved the circular side table in front of Sherlock’s chair and set a bowl of water on it. “Your hand, please?”

Sherlock gave Darin his left hand, and he set his fingers into the warm bowl of water. It smelled faintly of Sherlock’s own body wash. Darin folded the towel and tucked it under Sherlock’s arm, so he didn’t have to lean it against the edge of the table.

“Your other hand, please.” Darin reached out and took Sherlock’s hand gently, and examined his nails. He reached for a clipper and went to work.

Sherlock had feared that just sitting there, letting Darin groom him would be dreadfully boring. It wasn’t. Watching Darin’s reactions was interesting. Like how he had chosen to kneel instead of pulling up a chair, even forgoing a cushion under his knees. He focused all his attention on Sherlock’s hands, carefully clipping each nail, then running a file over the rough edges. 

“At one time, you did this regularly,” Sherlock observed. “It appeared on your dossier as a special skill, and even though you said you were out of practice, you still are competent.”

Darin nodded, and didn’t look up from his work.

“This was something you did for your ex-lover. The one you don’t want to tell me about,” Sherlock continued, and Darin’s froze in his work before continuing.

“I can order you to tell me. Answer all my questions,” Sherlock drawled.

Darin nodded. “You can. It’s underhanded, but yes, you can compel me to answer.”

“Of course you could safeword out of it, if you really didn’t want to. No. You want to talk about it, but it’s hard. Removing your choice somehow makes it less difficult for you.” Sherlock watched Darin frown as he gently swished Sherlock’s hand in the bowl of water.

“You did this for Peter. Tell me,” Sherlock finally demanded, quietly.

Darin sighed. “Yes. Twice a month. He used to have me regularly perform several services for him. If you’d like, I can give you a shave with a straight razor and hot towels, a facial, a pedicure...”

Sherlock hummed thoughtfully. “What did you get out of it, if you did a good job?”

Darin smiled as he remembered, and this time, he seemed to be able to bring the memories up without a flicker of pain marring his expression. “Whatever he wished to reward me with, of course.” Darin continued to clip and file the nails on Sherlock’s other hand. “My real reward is having the opportunity to give pleasure.”

Sherlock felt a shiver run down his spine. He let silence fall between them as Darin gently used an orange stick to press back the cuticles on both of his hands.

Sherlock thought carefully about his next question. Pressing too hard seemed a cruelty, but he knew he was right about his earlier assessment. “Darin, tell me. The things you think you need to say about him.”

Darin took his time answering, but he began to talk when he started buffing Sherlock’s nails.

“He was a librarian. Specialized in archival work for old books and documents and the like. I met him at the House. He was clever and kind. We dated for about a year and a half, and then we got a flat together in South Kensington. Things started to go downhill about a year after that. I was in the ‘publish or perish’ cycle of academia, and I worked even longer hours than I do now. He wanted me home more often, wanted to spend more time with me. I simply didn’t have enough hours in the day. Biological sciences are competitive.”

“Surely, he understood that?” Sherlock asked, frowning.

“On some level. He was older than me by five years. He was feeling time slip away from him as he was headed toward middle age, and didn’t want to wait the years it would take me to settle in. He wanted to adopt children, or investigate surrogacy- wanted a lifetime commitment.”

Darin swallowed hard, and stopped at his work for a moment.

“I see,” Sherlock replied. “You didn’t share that dream of the future. He pressured you, until it became unbearable.”

Darin took a deep breath. “There was some drawn out awfulness. Yes, I wore his collar. I didn’t really want to. At the time, I thought it would be enough of a compromise, or at least a delaying tactic. He pushed more and I withdrew, until he finally decided to end things. He kept the flat, and left me Garnet House. We agreed we shouldn’t go to the same club anymore- we had both seen the damage a split up could do. I bought my current flat in Bloomsbury, figured a dog would suit me fine for a companion, and got Sophie. That was about five years ago. We didn’t stay in touch. Last I heard, he had moved to Belgium, met someone and started his family.”

Sherlock studied Darin’s face. The grief was there, but there was relief, too. People were not good at holding in tales. Sherlock had seen it many times in his line of work. Many a perpetrator would find alleviation after they finally were forced to confess their crimes. The situation was different, but human behavior was the same.

“You didn’t date anyone else, afterward.” Sherlock knew, but he wanted Darin to tell him.

Darin picked up a tube of lotion, and worked it into Sherlock’s skin. “Not seriously. I had my work, my family, friends and colleagues. The House when I needed it. It was safer than just picking people up, and everyone knew what to expect.”

Darin massaged deeply into the tissues of Sherlock’s palm, and he sighed when Darin dug his fingers into the tight muscles of his left hand.

“That’s from the violin, huh?” Darin pressed harder, and Sherlock winced, but at the same time he could feel his tendons relaxing.

“Yes. I should have you do that regularly.” Sherlock inspected his hands.

“As you wish,” Darin replied, and returned the tools to the tray.

Sherlock reached down and tipped up Darin’s chin, forcing him to look at him. “I know you think what happened with Peter was your fault. You have flagellated yourself with that guilt for years. Stop now.”

Darin closed his eyes, and Sherlock let go of his chin. Darin bowed his head. He was quiet a long moment, studying the carpet.

“Thank you,” he finally whispered.

“Obvious,” Sherlock replied, but without a hint of snark.

Darin stood and picked up the tray, and Sherlock reached out to stop him. “I’ve never had a pedicure before.”

Darin looked over the tools again. “I don’t have everything I would typically use, but if you don’t mind waiting a few more minutes, I can make do.”

Sherlock hummed in assent and leaned back into the chair. He thought about Peter. The idea of that mystery man, the person who had last occupied Darin’s heart, used to rankle him. Sherlock had considered researching Peter, finding out all the ways he had been an inferior partner. It didn’t seem to matter very much now, not with the sounds of Darin clinking around in his kitchen. Sherlock wasn’t sure how long Darin would stay, exactly when Sherlock would be left alone again with nothing but his own defenses. Right now, he had this, whatever it was, and the memories of another man, long gone, were immaterial.

Sherlock felt strong hands on his ankles, and he looked down to see Darin removing his shoes and socks. He placed Sherlock’s feet into a large bowl filled with hot, slightly soapy water. He flexed his toes and let the heat seep into this skin as Darin silently returned to the kitchen for another few minutes. 

Darin returned again with his tray, and kneeled on the floor. He took one of Sherlock’s feet out of the water and placed it onto a towel on his lap. “This was the best I could do with what I have. Next time, I will be more prepared.”

“You have really long feet,” Darin said to himself, wiping off the suds clinging the top of his foot. “Graceful.”

Sherlock shrugged. His feet worked well enough. He didn’t give them much thought, other than to keep them dry in good socks and shoes.

Sherlock twitched when he felt an odd, slippery and gritty sensation on the sole of his foot. He looked down and saw that Darin was scooping out some sort of paste from a small bowl.

“I smell olives,” Sherlock pronounced.

Darin made a face. “It’s a sugar and olive oil scrub. I looked for something organic- perhaps rosemary or mint in your pantry to kill the scent, but you don’t seem to have anything in. Olives are not so bad, anyway.”

“You could have used a few drops of my aftershave,” Sherlock pointed out.

“No thank you. It wouldn’t quite work,” Darin replied.

He was about to argue the point, when Darin began to work the scrub in small circles on the bottoms of Sherlock’s feet. Darin had warmed the oil before mixing it with the sugar, and the heat and massage felt incredible. The firm pressure kept it from tickling. Sherlock closed his eyes, sunk deeper into his chair and hummed.

Darin took his time, working over his heel repeatedly. He eventually found Sherlock’s arch, fingers pressing into the tendons until Sherlock groaned. He wouldn’t have had thought this would feel this good. In fact, he was starting to become aware of a general warmth throughout his whole body. It slowly pooled in his groin, and Sherlock shifted a bit in his seat.

Darin smiled knowingly. “I see we have something else in common.” 

Sherlock had to stifle another moan as Darin meshed his fingers with his toes, stretching them gently.

“I had a client once, who owned an upscale women’s shoe store,” Sherlock mentioned. “Shoes would go missing from the sales floor. That was odd, because she only displayed one at a time. Who would steal one shoe? _Ah_ , do that again,” Sherlock gasped. 

Darin had slid his hands to the back of Sherlock’s calf, and ran his thumbs firmly from his heel, up along the sides of his Achilles tendon. Sherlock paused in the telling of his tale, enjoying the feeling of overly taught muscles unwinding. Darin ran his fingers lightly over the top of Sherlock’s foot, then returned it back into the bath. Darin took his other foot out of the water, wiped off the suds, and repeated the scrub treatment. 

Sherlock continued where he left off. “Anyway, of course I suspected the thief was someone with a compulsion, so I researched foot fetishists. It’s actually very common. The brain has a body map, to catalog what regions process sensations for specific body parts. The areas of the brain for the genitals and the feet are located closely together, and it often gets cross-wired.”

“You don’t say?” Darin muttered. Sherlock caught the flash of a wicked grin before he licked a wide stripe along Sherlock’s arch. Sherlock yelped, and almost pulled his foot out of Darin’s hand. He twisted in his seat as Darin placed a line of kisses from his heel to the tops of his toes. It had been coyly pleasant before, but now it was like a direct current had been switched on to his cock.

“Oh. This is why you didn’t want to use the aftershave,” Sherlock figured out. Darin’s teeth grazed his outer arch, and Sherlock had to reach down and adjust himself in his pants.

Darin chuckled softly, and ghosted his fingers lightly over the underside of Sherlock’s foot. Sherlock tensed and gasped at the tickle, but before he could protest or yank away, Darin laid a series of kisses over the same spot, as if trying to erase the offense. Sherlock huffed, and Darin dropped a last kiss on the top of Sherlock’s foot before sitting back. 

Darin resumed the massage, using the knuckles of his fist to knead into the sole, and Sherlock relaxed again as Darin rubbed. Sherlock was just closing his eyes when he was jolted again by a fast, playful brushing of fingers at his toe tips. He curled them and yelped, but Darin was already soothing his nerve endings with tender kisses on the pads of each one. 

Sherlock gaped down at Darin, who had moved to trace innocent circles around his ankle bone. Sherlock honestly could not tell if it had been pleasurable or aggravating, but it had his full attention. He wasn’t exactly sure what Darin was going to do next. The nerve endings on his feet tingled with anticipation, echoing the dull throb of his prick. 

Darin leaned over and took Sherlock’s big toe between his lips and sucked it down. Sherlock cursed and writhed, not knowing if he should pull away or press his foot into Darin’s mouth further. Darin let it go with a wet pop, and then sucked gently on each of his toes in turn, licking delicately between the webbing before moving the next one. Sherlock’s train of thought completely derailed and went plummeting off the trestle before Darin reached the smallest toe. 

The soft flush of pleasure was flaring into something much hotter and brighter. Darin pulled Sherlock’s other foot out of the bath, cradling both his feet in his hands. Darin lapped along the tender tips of all ten of his toes, then drew both of Sherlock’s big toes into his mouth at the same time, swirling his tongue around them. 

“ _Darin_ ,” Sherlock finally sobbed out, demanding, but not really knowing what he was asking for. Darin dropped Sherlock’s feet, which made Sherlock growl with disapproval until Darin pressed in to kneel between Sherlock’s legs. Without preamble, Darin bent and mouthed the fine wool over Sherlock’s erection. Sherlock gasped and kicked out, upending the bowl of water his feet had been soaking in. Darin’s impatient fingers pulled at his flies and Sherlock lifted his hips to help rid himself of the offending garments.

Darin’s hands burned when he gripped Sherlock’s legs. His mouth left trails of fire on the crease of his groin, and Sherlock’s hands flew up to weave themselves in Darin’s hair. It was too much, it felt too overwhelming, the closeness, the fever. Klaxons rang in Sherlock’s head, but it was already too late for him to stop. He was combusting from the want.

Sherlock watched as Darin licked a stripe up the underside of his cock, and finally as he was taking him into his mouth, he met Sherlock’s eyes. Darin’s pupils had eclipsed his irises, his face dark with his own urgency. He hollowed his cheeks as he took him in, and Sherlock closed his eyes and threw his head back, unable to hold that gaze without igniting. 

Darin’s mouth was warm and wet, of course it was, but damn, Sherlock couldn’t have imagined it being this good. Darin’s tongue was doing… _something_...he couldn’t think, couldn’t catalog. Sherlock’s cock bumped the back of Darin’s throat and he gagged a bit, and _that_ …

“ _Bloody Hell_ ,” Sherlock cursed. Darin moaned softly around him and the vibrations made Sherlock swear again, hands clenching in Darin’s hair. _This is going to kill me_ , Sherlock thought in a moment of fleeting panic. Then suddenly Darin wasn’t going fast enough, Sherlock thrust up into his mouth, Darin’s choked moans humming through the core of him until…

Everything flared. Sherlock was consumed, incinerated.

He blinked up at the ceiling. His heart was hammering, and it felt like he had just been run over by a very fast vehicle. He could feel Darin’s head resting against his leg, hear Darin’s heaving breaths. Sherlock moved his head on a rubbery neck to look down at him.

Sherlock’s hands were still fisted in Darin’s hair and when he opened them, a few stray strands came away. Shaking, he caressed Darin’s abused scalp. Still cuddled against his leg, Darin looked up at Sherlock and flashed him a brief grin. He cleared his throat.

Sherlock scowled. “That is not what I had planned.”

Darin grinned, coughed. “Me either. You okay?”

Sherlock blinked. “Me? Did it hurt? You should have said…”

Darin shook his head. “You were a bit rude, but it’s fine. I’m fine. Just looking at you like that...” Darin hummed softly. “You’re trembling.”

Sherlock’s brain was tripping all over itself. “It was too sudden to stop...I...”

Darin kissed Sherlock’s leg. “It’s all right. We both got carried away. Are you breathing?”

Sherlock realized that he wasn’t, and gasped in a lungful of air. His skin tingled and pricked, it felt like ground in glass and pleasure at the same time. Darin’s weight on his leg was equally a comfort and a burden. His head felt like a library that had suddenly ravished by a hurricane, pages flying in the air, books off the shelves. When he was alone, when his body had become a distraction and it absolutely demanded he relieve it, if he felt like this afterwards he would put a pillow over his head and curl up while he waited for the oxytocin and endorphins to push the edginess away.

He didn’t know if having someone be with him made it more intense, or if it was just the concept of someone seeing him him vulnerable and struggling. Darin was watching him through half-lidded eyes, full of warmth and a little concern.The press of his head no longer bothered Sherlock’s jangled nerves. In fact, a soft glow was suffusing from his chest and soothing everything away.

“Oh. I really botched this,” Sherlock murmured, when he thoughts had lined up a little. “This didn’t follow script at all. When did you orgasm? I had plans for that.”

Darin giggled, tried to stop himself and gave up. “Yeah, well. You were kind of busy trying to suffocate me with your cock. Your carpet, I fear, needs to be cleaned.”

Sherlock scowled. “What happened to me telling you what to do?”

Darin couldn’t keep a straight face. “If I slip the leash when you’re not looking, whose fault is that?”

Sherlock snorted, then finally laughed. His hand found the top of Darin’s head and he ran his fingers through his hair. “You’re all right?” he asked again.

“Sure. It was kind of hot, really. Just let me catch a breath or two next time. Oh, and easier on the hair. I know I wasn’t very polite either, when I got my first,” Darin lifted an eyebrow. “If you want me to blow you again. I mean, you seemed…”

Sherlock yawned until his jaw cracked. “Eventually. I think I’d rather do the honors next time.”

Darin blinked. “Is that so? Twenty minutes good for you?”

Sherlock raised a dubious eyebrow.

“Fine. An hour, with maybe a nap. It’s a good thing you didn’t know me when I was twenty.”

Sherlock smiled again. “Stay?” They hadn’t spent whole nights together, but Sherlock suddenly wanted to wake up in the morning with Darin there.

“Sure. Let me wipe your feet off first, before you slip and fall on your pretty arse.”

###

“Who was your favorite?” Sherlock asked unexpectedly as he bent to unclip the lead off Gladstone. The stumpy dog went trudging after Sophie, who was already loose and running circles around him. The afternoon was mild and fine, and Regent’s Park was filled with children, tourists and lovers holding hands.

“Hmm?” Darin asked, watching the antics of the dogs absently.

“Garnet House. You must have had favorites,” Sherlock restated with a hint of impatience.  
“Oh. Yes,” Darin gave Sherlock a long look. “I think everyone has favorites.”

Sherlock raised his eyebrows, waiting for his answer.

Darin considered for a moment, then nodded. “It’s hard to choose. There was a married couple- the husband was a bisexual submissive. When his wife decided he was deserving a treat, she would set him up with me. He was very sweet,” Darin smiled fondly. “If I had to choose just one though, maybe the danseur from the London Ballet. His body was unreal, and he knew _everything_ I liked.”

Darin looked up at Sherlock, who was trying to hide his scowl.

“Of course, there was the mime with the wicked mouth. You wouldn’t think that…”

Sherlock’s frown changed into a grin. “You’re having me on.”

Darin laughed. “Sherlock, none of them are _you_. I was just a bit of spice for the married couple, and the danseur was a nice distraction, but my god, he was self-absorbed. Really, stop torturing yourself. I’m giving them up for a moody but brilliant consulting detective with beautiful eyes.”

Sherlock looked towards the romping dogs, headed towards the football pitches. His cheeks were pinking just a bit.

Darin nudged Sherlock’s elbow. “You’re charming when you blush. I’m not sure what makes you so jealous. I’ve had a few experiences, so what? Sex isn’t a finite resource that I’ve squandered, or a competitive sport.”

Sherlock considered his words as they paused to watch the players. “It could be. We could make a rating system. Scorecards?”

Darin laughed. “ _No._ ”

Sherlock grinned. “It might be interesting.”

Darin broke into a fit of giggles. “I’m going to have to keep yellow cards in the bedside table.”

Sherlock snickered. “Then I need to buy a stopwatch and a whistle.”

“Stop,” Darin begged, wiping at his eyes.

Sherlock bumped his shoulder. “Come on.”

They picked up the pace to keep up with the dogs, both still smiling.

###

“You need to make sure the rope hasn’t pinched the skin, so when you think you are through, make sure to...hey there,” the woman turned to smile at Sherlock.

Sherlock nodded at her, and flashed her his guest card. “Please go on. I’m not here to interrupt.”

Her smile widened. She was a middle aged woman, with steel gray hair. In another setting, she could have been a schoolteacher. Scratch that, she _was_ a schoolteacher.

“It’s nice to finally meet you. I’m Justine. She turned to her two students, “This is Darin’s partner.” A man and a woman turned and nodded at Sherlock, but his eyes were stuck on Darin, suspended in a network of ropes from the ceiling. He was upright, and his feet were just a few inches above the floor. The ropes supporting most of his weight wove artistically around his pelvis and chest, his hands were simply bound by the wrists behind his back. Justine had been about to do something about his legs, a rope was looped around his thigh, ends still coiled on the ground. Darin was wearing a simple pair of lycra briefs and nothing else. Sherlock knew additional clothing would just get bunched up in ropes.

“He’s lovely, don’t you think?” Justine asked Sherlock.

Sherlock didn’t reply. It was an obvious question, and he was busy trying to sort out why witnessing this display caused a ripple of odd sensations to run through him. He certainly didn’t like these people handling Darin, which he knew was ridiculous. He hadn’t caught them doing anything particularly scandalous- unless one had a moral objection to tying up a willing person. He was starting to regret giving into the compulsion to check up.

Justine patted Sherlock’s arm and called to her students. “Why don’t you two take a five minute break?” They both nodded, and took each other’s hands as they left the room. Something about them being a couple was reassuring to Sherlock, but he wasn’t sure why that would be.

Justine pulled Sherlock’s arm until he was standing in front of Darin. Being raised up a couple inches made him a bit taller, which was novel. 

“Hello,” Darin greeted him.

“Are you comfortable?”

Darin smiled. “Not exactly, but it’s fine.” The normal cadence of his speech had slowed.

“We will move him soon, don’t worry,” Justine assured. “It’s not a position we use for long.”

“To avoid orthostatic shock.” Sherlock ran a gloved finger over Darin’s pectoral. Gooseflesh bloomed in its wake.

“Yes, and to keep this little toy of yours level-headed so he can give the students feedback. He fades off on us in these stress positions. From the looks of things, I’ll only get a couple more changes out of him today,” Justine sighed.

“Sorry, ma’am,” Darin replied humbly, but he was also trying to repress a tiny grin.

“Sherlock, we have a whole house of actual submissives for you, if you want to exchange that guest card for a membership,” Justine said dryly.

Sherlock grimaced, and Darin’s grin broke into a chuckle that sent him rocking in his ropes.

“If he’s what you want, we can have Darin reserve a room for you. When we’re done, he’ll be nice and pilant…”

Sherlock, to his horror, felt his cheeks flush pink. “I do not need assistance with foreplay,” he snapped.

Justine gave his arm another maternal pat. “I’m sorry for being so frank, dear. Darin told me this was new to you. I forgot for a moment.”

Sherlock flashed her another angry glare. He was not _naive_.

Justine tutted and her two pupils come back into the room. “Well Sherlock, if everything meets your approval here, may we continue?”

Darin watched through his lashes while Sherlock considered. He still wasn’t sure about this, but it would take hours to sift through his thoughts. He wasn’t sure what would happen if he said no. All the same, he liked being asked, even if it was pandering.

 _You don’t have to be all things to me, Sherlock_.

Sherlock nodded once. “Proceed. Switch his position now. His back is starting to twinge.”

“Darin!” Justine scolded him.

“It’s still fine, for awhile,” Darin protested. It earned a slap to his flank from Justine for being pert.

“You are welcome to stay, Sherlock,” Justine invited him.

“I have things to do,” Sherlock turned to the door. “Enjoy your class.”

###

Sherlock stood in front of the window, bow poised above the strings. “I thought you were going to Garnet House tonight?”

Darin took off his coat. “I am on my way, I just wanted to stop by and make sure you are really all right with this.”

“You needed not have bothered. I’m fine.” Sherlock turned to the window and resumed playing from where he left off.

“Vivaldi,” Darin smiled. “You know I like it.”

“ _L’Estro Armonico_ , Opus three, Concerto Number six,” Sherlock hummed absently as he played.

“This is just the annual Yuletide party. I’m putting in my mandatory membership work hours. I’ll be serving drinks most of the night,” Darin unzipped the hooded sweatshirt he had on, and dropped it on the floor. He watched Sherlock’s reaction carefully, but he was still turned away, playing. 

“Sherlock,” Darin asked, “are you listening?”

Sherlock clicked his tongue and put down his violin. “Not really. I…are you wearing _that_?” Sherlock’s eyes widened and then narrowed.

“Uniform,” Darin looked down at the skin tight, low slung leather trousers, a pair of half-boots and nothing else. “Oh, they will probably make me wear a bow or a hat or something ridiculous. They change it every year. Rumor is that it’s a necklace of sleighbells this time.”

“Turn around,” Sherlock set his violin in its case.

Darin smirked and did a full slow rotation.

“Oh for god’s sake. You're not even wearing pants.”

Darin looked down. “Nope. No lines that way.”

“Well that’s...” Sherlock took two steps, and one bound to get over the coffee table. He crowded into Darin’s space and drew a fingertip down Darin’s sternum.

“You waxed your chest,” Sherlock cocked an eyebrow at him.

“A little,” Darin’s skin jumped as Sherlock traced the smooth skin down his torso to the button of his trousers. 

“I think I like the hair better,” Sherlock considered.

“I’ll remember that. You’d better leave off. With these trousers I won’t be decent to get onto the tube.”

“I’m not sure you’re decent _now_ ,” Sherlock dropped his hand.

“Like I said, nothing will happen. Well, alright. Some of the women tend to pinch my bum. They know they will never get a turn with me, so they tend to take small liberties whilst they can. It’s a bit annoying.”

Sherlock tapped his fingers on his lips. “Well, it is a rather nice bum.” 

“Look who’s talking. Anyway, I did come for a reason. I have something for you,” Darin turned to look in one of his coat pockets. If he bent over a bit too much, well, he was damn sure Sherlock would notice.

Sherlock hand his fingers pressed over his lips to suppress a grin. “Tormentor. Your tricks don’t work on me.”

Darin winked. “ _Sure_ they don’t. They just take more time to simmer with you. Here.” He handed Sherlock a Sharpie marker.

Sherlock took it and looked at it, removed the cap, sniffed it. “It’s a pen.”

“Yeah, brilliant. It’s a less drastic measure than your collar suggestion. Go ahead, have at it.” Darin held out his arms. “Just remember I have to ride the tube, okay?”

Sherlock looked between Darin and the pen. “Oh! Clever, Darin.”

“It’s not an original idea. Your autograph would get the point across. It’s up to you, of course.”

Sherlock grinned He uncapped the marker with a flourish, and carefully wrote his name on Darin’s left pectoral in flowing script.

“Turn around,” Sherlock twirled the pen in the air.

Darin did so, and felt the cold ink drying on his shoulder blade as Sherlock wrote. It seemed to him like it was a lot more text than just his signature.

“What’s it say?” Darin asked, trying to strain his neck over his shoulder to see.

“None if your concern, and no looking. That’s a command,” Sherlock snatched the sweatshirt off the floor and handed it to Darin. “Now off with you. I’m practicing.”

Darin laughed and kissed Sherlock on the cheek. “I’ll text you when I get home.”

“Shoo,” Sherlock smiled.

###

_What did you write on me?  
Why the hell is everyone grabbing my arse? -D_

_Shouldn’t you be serving cocktails? -SH_

_You are horrible. -D_

_You adore the attention.  
I just gave you want you wanted. -SH_

_Even the straight men are pinching me! -D_

_It’s good to expand one’s horizons. -SH_

_Rob read my back and laughed. Come on. Can I look? -D_

_When you go home you may.  
I do think you have deduced the gist. -SH_

_My bum actually hurts. -D_

_My apologizes, that was unintended. Come back here tonight instead.  
I’ll peel those ridiculous trousers off you and make it all better. -SH_

_You did not just text that. -D_

_Expanding my horizons -SH  
_

**Author's Note:**

> This is technically a supplement to Chapter Seven of _One Brave Deed_ , where Darin eludes to some of his personal history. My Pervy Beta Squad cried out for more detail, which became a ficlet, which turned into a big kinky project. If you liked this, thank Anarfea, alutiv and Prurient_curiosity.


End file.
